My John's Blog
by athena2517
Summary: John's blog, with hopefully a new entry every day. What I think John would have posted on his blog daily after... well, you know. Set after Reichenbach. May eventually include some cursing and heavy angst, youngsters beware. Grab the tissues.
1. Day One

Day One:

I suppose a lot of you are surprised to see this. I know I am. I have been talking to (my therapist, he writes. He deletes that phrase) a friend of mine, and they encouraged me to keep on writing my blog, so here I am. I suppose the thing I should do first is to send a thank you to all of the staff at St. Bart's, I know you did all you could to save Sherlock. You kept him alive, although in a coma for longer than I would have believed possible. It was thanks to you that his family had a chance to say goodbye.

Second, I would like to speak to all of the reporters and whoever else is covering this for the public. Stop. Just Stop. I don't care what you think he did, or what you think he was. No matter how many clouds cover the truth there is one thing that can't be contested, and that was that there are people out there who care deeply for Sherlock Holmes and walking out of their houses every day the very last thing they want to see is Sherlock Holmes, Fraud, Dead. Just let it rest. (John swallowed convulsively at the word rest)

Third, for those of you who want me to disclose the whereabouts of his grave, no. That is a place for family and close friends only and I don't want every curious passerby trampling the grass. If you are mourning his death, do it at home, or wherever you want. I'm sorry and I feel your pain but that is not something I want getting out.

Fourth, I will be continuing this blog, but don't expect it to be the same. God knows that I'm not.

Comments:

Hang in there John, I'm sorry. –Lestrade

He was such a great man. RIP Sherlock –Molly Hooper

God knows I'll miss that boy. –Mrs. Hudson

View all 25 comments…

_John finished typing and pushed his chair out from his desk. It was late, and the only light was shining up from downstairs. He took a steadying breath, hoping he could keep himself together. Just for one night. The funeral had been yesterday, and he was over feeling numb. He wanted the numbness back. He stood to get ready for bed. All of a sudden his leg was on fire. He fell to the floor, with a mercifully soft thud. The first thought he had was that he was glad Mrs. Hudson didn't hear. Then he broke. He wept into the carpet with coughing sobs, wishing he could die. Wishing it could have been him, because God knows, Sherlock would have been fine. Right?_


	2. Day Two

Day Two:

Still here. Still John Hamish Watson. Still, still. Things are getting ridiculous on the telly so I've shut it off. Stop speculating on why he did it. No one knows, or will ever know his mind. Half of the things I learned about the man I learned by accident. I lived (deletes with him and replaces it with) in the same flat as him for two years and I sometimes felt like I never knew him.

A friend of mine told me to see this as a bit of an opportunity, to write all the things I didn't when (we were still * delete* he was still ali- * delete*When I- * delete*) I didn't have time. I figure I have all the time in the world now. I am admittedly enjoying the lack of body parts in the fridge and the lack of experiments in the microwave. I realize how that may sound, I assure you, as a medical man, it was all for science.

When I'm not on this blog it's all quiet here. Far too quiet. I can't go outside without getting mauled by reporters and groupies so I stay in and resist the impulse to shoot the wall to relieve boredom.

I realize that I must sound heartless when I speak of the convenience of living on my own now. I think it is important for me to say that I would have preferred it if I wasn't. I do miss him, although I haven't said it in exactly those words before. Perhaps I will tell you a little about what it was like to live with Sherlock Holmes. Maybe then you will understand why I find all of this so hard to believe.

I wish you could have seen what I saw every day. If the world knew him as I did, then there would be no question that this was all a huge mistake.

Comments:

You'd better not shoot my bloody wall again John Watson! – Mrs. Hudson

Don't worry Mrs. Hudson I was only being descriptive. –JW

I'd imagine he was hellish to live with –Lestrade.

I can attest to the eyeballs in the microwave – Donovan

I would have lived with him no matter what! – I 3 deerstalkers

You have no idea what you are saying. No idea. – JW

View 21 comments…

_John pushed back slightly from the desk, carefully, to avoid knocking over his cane. He glanced at the phone, hoping to hear back from St. Bart's about his job interview. He had been forced into it by the need for something to do. He heaved a sigh, trying not to look at the screen anymore. His army revolver was lying next to the laptop. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand. His old, faithful gun, how he wished he could use it. Anything, to relieve the boredom. Anything, please god, just give me something to do so I can avoid thinking. Please, God, let me do anything but think of him._


	3. Day Three

Day Three:

H77777juuuuuuuuubh 

Comments:

Huh? – I 3 deerstalkers

What are you on about, mate? – Lestrade

Sorry, fell asleep on the keyboard, I hit send when I woke up by accident –JW

View 0 comments…

Day 3.0

Sorry about that last everyone, I haven't been sleeping well. So, what to talk about today? Right, yesterday said I would talk about what it was like to live with Sherlock Holmes.

First things first, he is, beyond any shadow of doubt, a genius. If you've read this blog at all before, you should know that. Sadly, most of those _facts _are being questioned. People that will remain nameless are saying that he made all of his cases up to appear clever. I guess I'll have to prove it to you myself.

First example; his chemical experiments. He did so many that they have all blended together in my head. He used them to solve murders, accidentally set things on fire, and once help Mrs. Hudson find a sufficient cleaning solvent to remove spray-paint from wallpaper. So that he could spray-paint it again. He could tell from a glance that I had been on a date, or down to the shop by glancing at me for less than a second when Mrs. Hudson assured me that he hadn't moved since I had left.

When we first met (John paused, trying to calm the shaking in his hand that had suddenly become more forceful than usual) he could tell that I had just arrived back from Afghanistan and had been a doctor there. From my phone he could tell even more. I have seen him do this sort of thing countless times and I remain in awe of those people who have come face to face with that astonishing brilliance and still doubt that he was a true genius.

That particular argument aside, he was in all sincerity, a sociopath. He thought it was socially acceptable to keep his experiments next to the jam in the refrigerator. He also continued talking whether or not I was home, not paying attention to whether or not I was listening. He shoots walls when he is bored. He used to play his violin at three in the morning, I swear just to annoy me. Actually, this one day, he decided that he would try to communicate solely through the use of his violin, without informing me of course.

Just when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, he would do something that reminded me that deep, deep inside he still was human. When it came down to it, he would do anything for a friend.

Comments:

That is so cute! – I 3 deerstalkers

Just what I thought. An annoying, obnoxious ass, until he isn't –Lestrade

That's our Sherlock –Mrs. Hudson

Thank you.

For what? –JW

Who is this? - JW

View 32 comments…

_With a sigh, John reread his latest blog entry. He chuckled softly to himself, remembering. Fortunately, he was so engulfed in his own mind, he didn't notice the tears running down his face. _


	4. Day Four

Day Four

Things are going well. The press is starting to calm down. I got a job at St. Bart's. I had a great date with Sophia. Greg and I had a good time at the pub, and life seems to be getting slowly back to normal. There is one thing that I definitely want to bring up, and that is will people please stop following me? I was a soldier in Afghanistan and I notice when someone is trying to sneak up on me. I don't want to talk about Sherlock. I don't want to talk about Moriarty. I don't want to talk about the hat. I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE FALL. For once I just want to be John Watson, can any of you understand that?

Some people say that what is keeping me from moving on is the memories, but they're wrong. Every time things are going well, someone asks me something, or stares at me. Can you just stop, please? Things are getting better. Just stop.

I start work tomorrow. Pleas don't come see me unless you are truly sick. I am absolutely serious about this. Any reporters, fangirls, or whatever else will be thrown out by security.

Comments:

Congrats on the job, mate. –Lestrade

Thanks. - JW

See you tonight sweetie! – Sophia 3

See you at work – Molly H.

View 10 comments…

_The next day, John went to work in the place where his best friend had met his end. It was an oddly peaceful feeling, being there. The place kept him busy enough that he couldn't think of anything but his work. At the end of the day he was exhausted and ready to go home. He grabbed his cane, and headed out. He opened the door and came face- to – face with curly black hair, grey eyes, and sharp cheekbones. He let out a yelp and almost tripped. It was a poster, or rather a whole wall of posters. They all said the same things. __I Believe In Sherlock Holmes__ stood next to __Moriarty Was Real!__ Dead faces stood out against the dead gray of the wall. He took a steadying breath. He couldn't breathe and he could feel his heart in his throat. All of a sudden the sidewalk seemed to be covered in blood. He could see Sherlock's dead white face, crisscrossed with rivers of crimson. He called a taxi, which was a mistake. The seat next to him was empty. HE threw money at the driver and sought sanctuary in Baker Street. He fell onto the couch and curled up on himself, trying to make the world go away. He fell asleep like that, woken only by Mrs. Hudson bringing up "a bite to eat" that could feed an army. It was left untouched. _


	5. Day Five

Day Five

I'm in kind of a rush today. Sophia and I are going away for a short vacation, we'll be back Sunday so I won't be updating the blog until then. When I do get back I have something very important to say so stay tuned! In the future when I go away I will try to write two entries to make up for it but no guarantees. Also, I would like to use this moment to bring up the fact that I have a computer and internet. Some of you may think that this is obvious, but some people decided to post things on a website called Tumblr that I find both weird and an invasion of my privacy. Some of the stuff on there is extremely creepy, and weird. If you haven't been on this site, I beseech you not to go on. Anyway, I must be off. See you on Sunday.

Comments:

I've been on the website, brilliant hilarious stuff! But what's all this about my division? –Lestrade

I dunno. I try not to think about most of what's on there. –JW

I love Tumblr! –I 3 deerstalkers

I thought you did. – JW

Can't wait! XOXO –Sophia

This site is practically interesting.

View 22 comments…


	6. Day Six

Day Six

On Friday I promised you something very important and here it is.

Thank you.

I went to work for my first day and almost tripped over my own feet on the way out. I saw the posters. You have no idea how much it means to me that there are people in this world that still believe in Sherlock Holmes. He was a great man, and I am sure that if he had lived a little longer he would have proved himself to be a good one.

Some of you may have been disappointed with the importance of that message. To those people I say, without a doubt, that that was the most important moment of the life that I have come to think of as "post-Sherlock".

An update in the life of John Watson:

I saw Mycroft today. I have no idea why. We chit-chatted. I have no idea what that was all about. Asked me about my life and what was going on in it, most of which he could have found out by reading my blog. I will never understand that man. Sometimes he reminds me of his brother, sometimes he reminds me of a statue, nothing changes on his face, but you could swear there were a million different things going on in his head.

Well, I'd better sign off, I have to pick up Patricia for our first date.

Comments:

I thought you were dating Sophia. What happened? – Lestrade

We went on a short holiday and it didn't go well. –JW

Sorry mate. –Lestrade

Who's Mycroft? – I3 deerstalkers

That is the question. –JW

Don't be ridiculous John. Statues don't think.

Seriously, who is this? –JW

If you don't tell me I'll block you from the site –JW

You don't know how.

I'LL FIND OUT! – JW

Unlikely.

View 13 Comments…

_John stared frustrated at the screen. There was something familiar about the way they spoke. Then it hit him, it had to be Mycroft. He's the only one arrogant enough to keep commenting, but private enough that he refused to sign his name. John reflected on how alike and different the two Holmes brothers were. He felt the familiar ache in his chest. It was getting easier to manage, but sometimes he would see or do something and it felt like he was being torn in half. Still, it was getting better. A few deep breaths and he could act like everything was okay. _

**8 hours earlier…**

** As John and Mycroft carried out their awkward conversation, grey eyes locked onto John from the other side of the two-way mirror. Fingers tapped against the glass lightly. They wouldn't stop fidgeting, it was their reaction against the brain's forced inaction. It had taken a lot of convincing to have his brother bring John here. He looked awful, his brown eyes had circled underneath them, and he was using his cane again. The owner of the tapping fingers laid his head down on the desk, listening to the slow conversation on the other side of the glass and careful not to put pressure on the stitches in his scalp.**


	7. Day Seven

Day Seven

I'm sick today so I won't be writing much. I must have caught something at the hospital. Don't worry though, faithful readers, it's nothing a cup of tea and rest won't fix. At least it doesn't seem like it now. My question is: where has the sun gone? It's freezing and dark outside, way beyond the regular London weather. This is ridiculous. I can't think of anything to write. Sorry guys. I'm off to bed.

Comments:

Feel better! –Patricia

Thanks! – JW

Do you want me to bring you up some soup? –Mrs. Hudson

That would be fantastic, thank you Mrs. Hudson –JW

You should more thoroughly disinfect yourself in the future.

Yes, thank you, whoever you are. Very helpful. – JW

View 0 comments…


	8. Day Eight

Day Eight

I made it all the way to the kitchen today before remembering he's gone. You'd think the fact that I actually got through a night without being woken up. I woke up, got dressed, got my cane and kept going. Walked all the way to the kitchen before realizing how quiet it was. How empty it was. Afterward, I felt so guilty. I'd forgotten him, just for a second. For a split second I had let him go. That's got to be an improvement right? I should see it that way but I don't. All I can think about is that if I don't remember him, if those closest to him allow themselves to forget, then what becomes of his memory?

(John's eyes skimmed what he had written, and his hand hung over the delete button. He had revealed too much of himself; or maybe not enough. He kept typing.)

Moving on is all well and good, but I'm not ready yet. So until that time comes my readers will just have to deal with me talking about it, because I can't forget until I'm sure others can remember. What I want to forget most are those people who come up to me in the street to tell me I'm wrong. They tell me to get my head out of the sand and see the "truth". The only truth I am concerned about is that he was here, he was wonderful, and he is gone. Help me remember Sherlock Holmes.

Comments:

Oh, God, I'm crying again. –Molly H.

Sorry Molly. – JW

I remember mate. –Lestrade

I Believe in Sherlock Holmes. – I 3 deerstalkers

We all do. –Mrs. Hudson.

View 40 comments…

**A pale, long fingered hand hovered over the keyboard, trying to form words. For once they failed him, so he reached out and touched the screen, then turned off the computer and walked away.**

This fic was inspired by a picture I found on Tumblr. I don't know who actually made it but I will post it to my Tumblr, the url being nerdyfangirl, after I am finished uploading this. Thanks for reading and please leave a review. -Athena


	9. Day Nine

Day Nine

Right, a bit late tonight, I apologize. Busy day at the hospital today. I don't think I had a moment to breathe from the time I got there to the time I was shoved outside at the end of my shift. Funny story, I was walking along, trying to find a cab and a flyer hit me right smack in the face. By the time I tore it off I saw this guy taking a video. He saw who I was, deleted it, and fled. Dear god, people are recognizing me. A bit flattering, a lot scary.

Anyway, moving past that extremely odd incident. My last date with Patricia went spectacularly. She's amazing and we had a lot of fun. Oh, and a big thanks to Mrs. Hudson for helping me dispose of the toes in the fridge. That, my friends means that the last gruesome remnant of human experimentation has been removed from the flat, so Stanford and Lestrade are coming around for drinks.

I'll be back in touch tomorrow. I have to go stock up on beer.

Comments:

See you later mate!-Lestrade

Get lots of beer!-Stanford

Will do!-JW

You'd better not wreck the flat!-Mrs. Hudson

Vieiw 7 comments…

_ The three men spent the rest of the night acting like college kids. They felt it the next morning when Lestrade had to go to work with a hangover, Stanford hurt his back sleeping on the floor, and John woke up in Sherlock's armchair. Which was the worse off?_


	10. Day Ten

Day Ten

Anyonw who's been watching the news… you know what happened. If you haven't… I'll post tomorrow. I need sleep and come painkillers. A big thanks to Lestrade for getting me the hell out of there.

Comments:

No problem. I'm glad you're alright. – Lestrade

God, John! I was so worried! – Patricia

I'm really glad you're okay. – Molly H.

Did they catch who did it? – Mrs. Hudson

No, no they did not. – JW

View 12 comments…


	11. Day Eleven

Day Eleven

So here goes, it's been a long time since I've written a story like this on here. Yesterday morning, for whatever reason I wanted to walk partway to work, so I was walking along with my morning coffee, trying to wake up when I had the scare of my life. Okay, so it wasn't the scare of my life, which in itself is worrying, but it was a frightening situation. This tall man was walking down the sidewalk towards me, he tripped and bumped into me, and thank God he did!

A split second after I stumbled a bullet hit where my head would have been. The sound of the bullet hitting the wall, followed shortly after by two more was enough to get people around me running for their lives, including the man who ran into me. In fact, he was in such a hurry to get out of there that he inadvertently saved my life by shoving me into an alley as he ran away. So I was hiding behind this wall, trying to phone Lestrade, when this van comes into view. I didn't like the look of it so I started running even before the driver started yelling and the passenger pulled out a gun.

The only thing that saved me this time was a convenient corner that I ran around and into the space between some bins and the wall. The passenger had already shot me in the arm, so I figured that hiding was probably a good option considering there were obviously a lot of them and they had transport. By some miracle they didn't find me, but it took Lestrade a while to do the same thing.

I wonder if it's a coincidence that yesterday was the same day that a brand new horde of graffiti covered London, all saying IOU. I know for a fact that a little while back London suddenly became home to a flock of assassins and criminals due to the presence of Moriarty in Baker Street. Perhaps it is related.

I would like to reassure everyone that I was not badly injured. My arm will be fine after a week or two.

God, rereading this it reminds me so much of our old adventures. I can't count the number of times we faced mortal peril together. We looked out for each other, and no matter what he would say, he cared. Turns out, the only person that can kill Sherlock Holmes is… well, you know. Me? I want to die an old man in my sleep.

Comments:

I can't believe that actually happened!-Stanford

He didn't even need a shock blanket! He let the medics sew up his arm and he was fine!-Lestrade

Wow, you are one lucky man! – I 3 deerstalkers

It is highly doubtful, with your love of danger, that you will live to be an old man, in bed. I hope, however, that you will.

Thanks? – JW

View 33 comments…


	12. Day Twelve

Day Twelve

Some days you lose all faith in humanity. Some days you just want to stay in bed. Some days you want the whole world to crumble around you, because what's the point of it all? Some days you feel so alone that you wonder if there is another human soul in the universe. Today was not one of those days.

Today was a day of hope. I was in the hospital, on clinic duty. I wasn't happy to be there. I just wanted to go home and then to see Patricia. It was just about time for me to leave when this old man walks in with a hacking cough. I thought, "oh, great, now I'll be sick tomorrow unless I get really lucky". He said he wouldn't stay long, he said he wasn't sick, although he sounded horrible, all clogged up.

Turns out this was the same man who had tripped me and saved my life the other day. He actually apologized for not stopping to make sure I was alright. We had quite a nice conversation and I must say that it renewed the faith in humanity that I have been questioning so frequently since I came here.

There was something about him that seemed like I had known him forever. He was just so easy to talk to. I ended up telling him more about me than I normally would and he just sat there and listened. He was better than therapy, that's for sure! Anyway, the point of all this wasn't to make you gag with the cheesiness of it all, or to encourage the many jabs about me being gay that I'm sure will follow, it was to tell the world, or at least the little piece of it I touch, that there is still good in this world. You just need to look hard to find it sometimes.

Comments:

Who was he? –Lestrade

No idea, he was pretty skillful at giving non-answers. – JW

Didn't anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers? – Molly H

Your optimism inspires.

Why did I read that as being sarcastic? – JW

You're learning.

View 9 comments…


	13. Day Thirteen

Day Thirteen

Lucky number thirteen, huh? Work still continues on the search for the people that tried to kill me. I'm not too worried, I guess they aren't very good shots. There's a lot of talk about it being one of Moriarty's former cohorts out for revenge. It's amazing how many people are eager to believe in this "conspiracy" now that something "exciting" has happened. The same people that put down Sherlock seem to be on the bandwagon now that someone tried to "silence" me. Although, I did hear one "person" saying that I staged this "like my accomplice Sherlock Holmes staged the crimes that made him famous."

To everyone who thinks that _I _made this happen I want to remind you that I _was shot_. I don't enjoy being shot. Even in the arm a bullet can do a frightful amount of damage! I should know that better than anyone!

Also, I would like to add that I couldn't seem to find the cane I lost when I was running for my life. I'm currently using an old one I have, but it's a bit awkward.

Comments:

How could you run without your cane? – I 3 deerstalkers

Don't get me started – JW

I won't miss next time. – SM

Mistake. You're mine.- Lestrade

I could leave a comment critiquing your over use of quotation marks, but I think I would rather respond to the comment from "SM" by saying simply that there won't be a next time.

Try to stop me. – SM

I will do more than try.

View 14 comments…


	14. Day Fourteen

Day Fourteen

Well, after those comment outbursts yesterday, I am being extremely cautious in my activities. This means that I won't be socializing any time soon. If someone is coming after me, they can get _me_. Is that clear enough? God, I am so tired of this. When can this nightmare be over?

That brings me to my next point. This blog. It's getting harder and harder to keep things interesting. Apart from people trying to kill me my life is frightfully dull without my best friend. Still living in Baker Street is not helping. All his stuff is still here. I don't know what to do with it, so I leave it.

Also, I think I may be going insane. No big deal, just thought you would like to know.

Comments

What do you mean you're going insane? Ur the sanest person I know. – Molly

Caution is wise under these circumstances.

Thank you? – JW

Don't even think about moving out John Watson! – Mrs. H

View 8 comments…

_John read the comments, with a slight smile on his face. They all cared so much. If only they knew the things that had been going on in his mind. He was hearing things. HE would wake up from a nightmare (he fell so fast) and he would hear the echo of gunshots ripping into the wallpaper. Sitting alone in his flat his mind filled with cries of "bored!" and "John!" it was getting worse. When he was shot at he could have sworn he heard a whisper (Vatican Cameos). When he was working at the hospital he heard his voice (I'm sorry). On a date with Patricia his mind wandered (Who was after the boring teacher?). He was having trouble keeping his mind together. He hated it. At the same time, he loved it. He loved the second it took for his mind to remember that Sherlock was gone. He loved that he could still picture every action and every look so clearly. He was so afraid to let it go and move on, so he didn't._

**He was in too deep. Every step he took was filled with danger. On the bright side, his mind had never been so clear, had never known such mental elation. The web he was untangling was as beautiful as it was terrible. The mastery behind every move was something to be saluted. A small part of his brilliant mind worried. Mostly, he worried about John. He worried about the close call he had already had. The smallest of thoughts was what would come next. How John would react to his reappearance. What he would do after Moriarty was gone, knowing that no one else could match their dance. Although he wouldn't admit it, he longed for Baker Street. The game was almost done. He could feel it. Just a few more things to be done.**


	15. Day Fifteen

Day Fifteen

Lestrade called me in on a case today. There was a murder that he thought I could help with, considering I was very familiar with Sherlock's methods. I'm afraid I wasn't much help. I'm just not the man Sherlock was. I'm not as clever, not as observant, and not as brave.

Just at the moment, that is all my mind can come up with apart from one thing. Thank you, thank you so much, Molly Hooper for your note at work. That, along with what came with it was… I can't describe what you gave me by doing what you did.

So here it is, Sherlock did not commit suicide, he was murdered. I know why he jumped. Before he died he asked Molly to do one thing for him, he asked her to place the camera he had found in our apartment on the roof and to make sure it was recording when he reached the roof to talk with Moriarty. I've seen the footage. I plan on releasing it to the press to clear the name of my best friend, but I want you to hear it here first. He jumped to save the lives of myself, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and our landlady and dear friend Mrs. Hudson. Moriarty had snipers trained on us all, and the only way Sherlock could stop them was by jumping off of the roof to his death in the view of the snipers. Moriarty shot himself so that Sherlock couldn't make him call off his snipers.

Sherlock called me before he jumped to tell me that he was a fake. I think I understand, it is far easier to hate than to grieve. If it had worked, I would feel betrayed, but not grief. It didn't work. Sherlock Holmes is the best man I will ever meet. He never told me a lie. He died in the most honorable way a man can, in the place of his friends.

And I will always miss him.

Comments

God, I had no idea. I swear John I didn't know. He was a damn good man and I will never forget that I owe him my life. I'll take the footage to the press, I may be able to convince them a little easier. –Lestrade

You're welcome – Molly

My boys. – Mrs. Hudson

The game never ends.

View 45 comments…

_ John was smiling and crying. This was the best thing he could hope for. He only regretted that he could never tell Sherlock that he really was a hero. He wished he could tell him to his face that he was the greatest man in the world._

** He looked at the screen and let his emotions surface. A tear fell. **

"**So close. Soon, I promise."**


	16. Day Sixteen

Day Sixteen

Something big is going on in London. I can't tell you exactly what it is, but something is coming. Someone once told me that when you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield of London. It's like an electric current running through your heart, on some days it's clam, and you're clam. Other days the current takes over your whole being, your heart races and you're ready for action. The current is building and I don't know why.

It started with the attempt on my life. When the video, which I assume most of you have seen and cried to, was aired to the public it sparked something. I'm being followed and watched. Either that, or I'm incredibly paranoid. Last night, I was close to a gun fight. I was walking home and a shot came from somewhere behind me, followed by a sound the likes of which I haven't heard since my days in Afghanistan. I don't know what caused this fight, and I'm not sure I want to.

All this has been reported to Lestrade. I think he knows more than he's telling me. I'm going to go take a walk.

Comments:

Don't go anywhere mate, trust me. – Lestrade

What the hell aren't you telling me? Haven't I proved over and over that I'm trustworthy? – JW

I'm sorry. – Lestrade

Listen to him John. – Molly

You too? – JW

Oooh, creepy. – I 3 deerstalkers

View 12 comments…

_ Frustrated beyond belief, John threw his coffee mug across the room to shatter against the wall. When he walked with Sherlock he had watched London from afar, trusting that his friend wouldn't miss a thing, and would share it with John. Now he was on the outside of everything, clueless as to what danger his friends were getting themselves into._

"**Don't be stupid."**

"**I am never stupid."**

"**Perhaps, but you have been known to be rash."**

"**And?"**

"**You are just healing. You can't-"**

"**You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do."**

"**I have every right!"**

"**Not anymore."**

"**Sh-"**

"**I'm going. I'm ending this tonight."**

Lovely readers, I think this is the time I am supposed to beg you to Review. I like reviews, and to the people who have already done so, LOVE YOU! Anyway if I'm going too fast, too slow, or if you have any questions, tell me! - Athena


	17. Day Seventeen

Day Seventeen

I apologize if this blog takes a while to update, but I'm doing it from the hospital on my laptop and they don't have the best wireless Internet. I'm fine now, but I am also lucky to be alive. If it weren't for Greg Lestrade I'd just be a memory. I don't know how he got to me in time, but thank God he did.

So here is the story. I was walking through the hospital and I got all tangled up with this skinny blonde guy. He hit my arm a good one, or so I thought, my arm burned from the encounter. He looked me right in the eye and said,

"How can you bear working in this place when your best friend Sherlock Holmes jumped off this very roof?"

I'm sure I stammered something like "I don't know" or something but I don't remember much. What I do remember is walking around the hospital like a ghost. His words kept spinning in my head, "Sherlock Holmes jumped off this very roof." Over and over and over again. I wanted it to stop so badly. I just wanted it to stop. I started running, as if I could outrun the thought. I don't know how I made it to the roof, but I did. The world was spinning and I felt sick. I started having flashbacks to the video footage. Images of Moriarty and Sherlock. I thought of the phone call. His "note". I think I might have cried a little and I definitely screamed.

I must have staggered over to the place where he jumped, because I remember hanging over the edge to look at where he landed. I was definitely crying by then. My phone rang, like it had when Sherlock called me that day. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I let the phone ring and I stepped onto the edge. I thought if I never picked up the phone, then Sherlock couldn't commit suicide. I started to sway over the edge but I heard his voice, Sherlock's that is. He was yelling,

"No! John!"

At this point Lestrade said that I muttered, "I'm sorry." before he grabbed me by the back of my jacket and pulled me back onto the roof. He had to literally pin me to the ground to keep me from jumping, even after the phone stopped ringing. They then had to sedate me in order to get me inside.

When I woke up Greg was waiting and I was in a hospital bed. He said I had been drugged and I was lucky he was in the area and decided to come visit me and heard me screaming. At first I didn't believe his story, but how else could he have known? I checked my phone for that number, it wasn't one I recognized and no one picked up when I called.

The drugging had to be that blonde man. It couldn't have been anyone else. I want to know what the hell is going on, but for now I'm stuck in this bloody bed!

Comments:

Just concentrate on getting well. The villains of London can wait. If you're good I'll bring you by some goodies so you don't have to eat the hospital food. –Mrs. Hudson.

Thanks Mrs. H. I'd like that. –JW

Just stay away from the roof, okay mate? – Lestrade

Will do, and thanks again. –JW

Next time a stranger runs into you in an empty hallway while looking straight at you PAY ATTENTION.

Have you been watching me? Who the HELL are you? – JW

View 34 comments…

**He fingered his phone. He almost lost everything today. They almost won today. He almost let them. He was too close to make mistakes now. He could almost taste the end. He took his phone and hurled it at the wall, watching the pieces fly. He had almost been too late. They wouldn't get a second chance.**

This chapter inspired by the YouTube video will you do this for me? Sherlock BBC. By KatrinDepp.


	18. Day Eighteen

John sat up in bed, not ready to face the day. He had gotten home form the hospital late last night, and gone straight to bed. The nightmares would not go away. He woke with a scream fighting to break free every morning, and then had to face the empty flat. The morning was his least favorite time. He had all this extra time and nothing to fill it with but thoughts and regrets. He thought of the blog, what to fill it with today. His phone buzzed on the table. He sighed and stood, pulling on his clothes. He picked up his phone and read the screen.

Come into the living room. –SH

An invisible hand punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Every understandable thought left his head. He grabbed his gun off of the side table. Suddenly it was very hard to walk straight, he leaned against the wall to make it into the living room. He stubbed his toe on the doorframe.

"Sherlock." He said, the same way another may use a curse.

"Sherlock." He whispered again.

He stumbled into the living room.

"John." The exact same voice, the exact same way he had said it a lifetime ago in a room with a pool, as John prepared to face his death.

John was panting, unable to get enough air. The gun fell to the floor.

"You. You. I saw… You did… God, what you did… what did you do? What the hell did you do?" John's voice came out as barely more than a whimper.

"It was fake, John. It was all fake. Well, most of it."

With one motion John collided with Sherlock as his fist collided with the side of Sherlock's face. They both fell to the floor and John's world went blurry. The world was spinning, and Sherlock was talking. His mouth was moving but the words made no sense. He was lifted off the ground and put on something soft, he thought he must be dying. The world started to turn black.

John's eyes snapped open. A vial was being taken out from under his nose. Sherlock Holmes sat on the small bit of couch that John was not currently occupying. His face was thinner than it had been before the fall (that being no mean feat), and there was a strange red mark spreading over his cheekbone, but when he turned and faced John fully, his eyes were the same.

"I feel I need to apologize to you. I had no idea my reappearance would have such an effect."

"You're a genius and you had no idea? Christ, Sherlock. You were DEAD. How did you- No. Don't tell me. I don't care. Oh God. Please let this be real."

John looked at him, making sure that he was real. Sherlock looked him in the eye, the corner of his mouth quirked up. John felt joy rising inside of him, and all of a sudden they were both smiling and Sherlock's deep laugh filled the room.

John took Sherlock by the arm and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Sherlock patted his back, a bit awkwardly. They parted and John let out a deep breath.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked.

"Starving." John replied.

"Breakfast?"

"Brilliant."

"I'll call Mrs. Hudson."

"Does she…?"

"… Perhaps you should call her."

John laughed and picked up his phone.

"Mrs. Hudson. We need breakfast for two up in B. I know you're not the housekeeper, but just this once? Oh, and Mrs. Hudson? Brace yourself."

"John. No one else can know. We have work to do."

"Okay. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever do anything like that ever again I will throw you off a building myself."

Day Eighteen

Everything is good. Nothing special going on. Life is moving on. I'm sort of busy, so I'll post tomorrow.

Comments:

What? Seriously? That's it? – I 3 deerstalkers

Everything's fine now, right mate? – Lestrade

More than fine. – JW

We need milk.

View 23 comments

I WAS SO FREAKING EXCITED TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER THAT I WROTE IT EARLY! To anyone who is disappointed that it only took this long for Sherlock to come back I AM NOT WRITING THIS BLOG FOR THREE YEARS! I have stuff to do! 

This chapter dedicated to Mitaya. 


	19. Day Nineteen

"John, John! Wake up! We have work to do!" Sherlock's voice echoed I the dark as he stood in the doorway.

"What?" John asked.

"If you would rather sleep, I'll let you, but I'm off to save my own life. Could be dangerous." Sherlock's silhouette vanished from the doorway.

John should have been annoyed. He should have rolled over in bed and pulled the covers over his head. He didn't. Sherlock was back and there was nothing on earth that could stop him from keeping Sherlock safe.

He flung the covers back and pulled off his pajamas and on his clothes as fast as he could. By the time he emerged, his hair ruffled from sleep and caneless, Sherlock was in his coat and scarf, holding John's gun out for him to take it. John's hand closed around the gun, and he smiled.

"We're ending this?" John asked.

"Tonight." was Sherlock's answer.

"What are you waiting for?" John said and pushed past Sherlock through the door. Sherlock grinned and followed.

John went to call a cab, but Sherlock pulled him away. He motioned for silence and kept to the shadows, as silent as a ghost. They walked down the street, avoiding streetlights and the headlights of cars.

"Where are we going, Sherlock?"

"To the flat of Sebastian Moran, your would be killer."

"Where is that, exactly?"

"Too close for comfort." They had miraculously made it across the road without being seen and they continued behind the row of flats across from Baker Street. They entered a building through a side door.

"Sherlock, this is _directly _in front of our flat!" John's whisper echoed through the empty hall, Sherlock clapped his hand silently over John's mouth. A door opened and shut somewhere upstairs and footsteps were heard in the nearby staircase. In the dark the glow of a cigarette could be seen. The face that was lit up by the burning cigarette end could have been beautiful, but a large amount of scars and a bearing of hate and danger dispersed the feeling. John had never seen anyone that looked more like a killer than Sebastian Moran.

He tapped out his cigarette and left through the same door that Sherlock and John had come through. He stopped and turned, and John was certain that he could hear their breathing. Mercifully, he left. Sherlock removed his gloved hand from John's mouth and John let out a shaky breath. Silently, they ascended the metal stairs and emerged a floor above. Sherlock seemed to know exactly where they were going. Sherlock knelt down and handed John a small torch. The light seemed blinding after so much darkness while John held the torch for Sherlock while he picked the lock. The opening of the door was deafening, and they slipped inside.

"Turn off the light." Sherlock said quietly. John obeyed and they felt their way through the dark. Sherlock took John's arm and shoved them both against a wall, in an alcove just as the door opened and the light flicked on. The sound of a gun being cocked sounded.

"Sherlock Holmes." The name rung in the silence like a bell from cold, hateful lips. John got out his gun.

"Are we playing hide and go seek? It's a small flat." Moran flickered the lights and laughed.

"You're right." Sherlock said, and stepped out from his hiding place. John darted after him, bringing his gun up and pointing it joyfully at Moran's head.

Moran laughed again and the hairs on the back of John's neck stood on end. He was insane. He recognized the look on Moran's face. He had nothing to live for, so he may as well die.

"Thank you, Sherlock Holmes, for coming here. I'm glad I will get to look you in the eyes as I kill you."

"You won't-" John was cut off by a gunshot and Sherlock jerked backwards. John's finger started squeezing the trigger just as Lestrade hit Moran's back and tackled him to the floor. Moran's gun went flying. As Lestrade forced Moran's hands into cuffs and shouted instructions to the constables outside, John turned to find Sherlock.

His mind clouded with memories of the fall and he wanted to scream. He turned fully and came face to face with a smiling detective.

"Well done, Detective Inspector! And thank you for letting me borrow the vest." He unbuttoned the top of his shirt to reveal a black vest. John almost fainted in relief.

"Sherlock, this needs to stop. Next time, let me know what the hell we're getting into, okay?"

"Alright." Sherlock answered as the constables took Moran away.

"Well, look at this, the old team back together again. Never thought I'd live to see the day." Lestrade said, then smiled and followed his men out the door.

"Does that mean we can tell everyone you're alive now?"

"There are a few remaining remnants, but we will deal with them as they come."

"Brilliant."

Day nineteen

He's alive, he's alive, I swear to God he's alive. Sherlock Holmes is alive and well and back home in Baker Street! I had no idea before yesterday, I swear! He showed up in Baker Street yesterday and gave me the shock of my life!

He's a living miracle. Well, it also helps to have a brother with access to the best medical care in the world, but after a few days in a coma and many more of healing all he has to show for it are a few scars. He is without a doubt the luckiest man alive.

I can't describe to you how good life seems today. Mrs. Hudson and I barely give him a moment's rest. I keep wondering if I'm just insane, but then I hear that cursed violin music and know that everything is all right again. It's a good feeling. A great, amazing, impossibly brilliant feeling.

There will be a press conference tomorrow about all this, but I wanted you to hear it from me.

Comments:

"Impossibly brilliant?" John, my reappearance was part of an intricate and dangerous plan, you make it seem so simple. It is a true gift.

Welcome back mate. -Lestrade

Sherlock's logged off, I'll pass on the message. -JW

I wasn't talking to Sherlock. -Lestrade

View 50 comments…


End file.
